


Sex and the City

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L.A. has always been Chris' kind of town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and the City

Another night, same city. Another stakeout spent gathered round a square table in a club with the usual pack of hungry, roaming wolves. Actually, Karl might take that as a compliment, Chris thinks, as he starts on a new glass of scotch. He's got that predatory look in his eyes, matching the unmistakable smile of a man who knows he can have anything he wants.

"Redhead, four o'clock," the Kiwi says, around the rim of his glass. Zach darts his eyes over in the noted direction, sitting beside him. He whistles low.

"Nice," he comments, and Chris smothers a laugh into his glass. Zach throws him a half-dirty, half-wounded look. "What? I can appreciate the female form."

Chris just laughs. "Sure you can, buddy."

The redhead seems to spot them, what with all the stares. Just as she sets her target on Karl, he's up and out of his chair, clapping Zach on the shoulder. "Gentlemen," he says by way of dismissal, then leaves them to the hunt.

Chris feels Zach's leg brush against his beneath the table and for a moment, Chris forgets anyone else is there. Then Anton pipes up beside him, suddenly snapping out of his trance.

"Shit," he whispers. "Four o'clock. Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six."

Zach doesn't look, the angle too obvious from where he's sitting, but Chris takes a gander. He can't help but scoff; Anton's tastes can usually be summed up with the word _Amazon_ and tonight is no exception.

"Um, more like thirty-eight on the first bit. Maybe forty."

"Awesome," Anton replies with a grin, picking up his beer. "Bye." And then he's gone.

"Just you and me, man," Chris says. He runs his fingertips along his sweaty glass (or is it his fingers that are sweaty after that electric jolt?) and raises the drink in the air. Zach mirrors him with his cocktail, a hint of a playful smile on his lips.

"Last one to make a kill is a loser," he says.

"You're the loser," Chris mutters, already frantically scoping out the room. He barely gets a chance to settle on anyone before Zach clears his throat.

"Blue eyes. Twelve o'clock."

"Fuck." Chris shakes his head in defeat and then turns to look; it's against the rules to be so blatant, but he doesn't care anymore. And Zach doesn't protest, for some reason. But Chris can't tell who the prey in question is to save his life. "Shit, how can you even see anyone's eyes from this far away?"

Zach finishes his drink in a single swallow, dark eyes trained on the glistening Cupid's bow of Chris' mouth. "I can see just fine," he says.

It takes Chris only two seconds to knock back the rest of his fourteen-dollar scotch. Clearly, two seconds is much too long; Zach's already up and tugging on his shirt sleeve before he's set the glass back down on the table. Chris follows. Because Zach may not have the rugged, panty-dropping charm that Karl has or the boyish looks with contrary wild side that Anton rocks, but somehow he, too, always gets exactly what he wants.

Chris has yet to spoil the man's track record, the hot swipe of Zach's tongue along his inner thighs as good as it was the first, fifth, twelfth time he felt it. Chris reaches up and grips the top edge of the stall for purchase; it's awkward, but he needs it when Zach's molten mouth closes around his length, strong hands pressing his hips to the wall. He moans as loud as he needs to, because in a club like this, in a city like L.A., no one can deny a man his pleasures.

That's why Chris loves it here. That's why he's never left.


End file.
